


going ahead with the reinvention of me

by psychomachia



Category: Far Cry 4
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-06 09:04:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21224048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychomachia/pseuds/psychomachia
Summary: Ajay doesn't get the man, but does get the country. It's not an acceptable trade.





	going ahead with the reinvention of me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cricket_aria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cricket_aria/gifts).

“I don't think you can just give someone a country,” Ajay says. He takes a swig of something brown, bitter, and definitely likely to fuck him up good.

“It's not like an old futon you leave in an apartment where you let someone know, yeah, it sags a little, and there's a stain in the corner, and it will try to kill you so be prepared for that.”

Pagan doesn't answer.

But Ajay's not expecting him to because Pagan fucked off on a helicopter yesterday leaving Ajay to walk his ass back until the Royal Guards showed up. He was half expecting to get into another fucking gun fight but they're surprisingly cool with him, considering he's offed a shit ton of them.

Pagan probably gave them a head's up, like “Don't kill this guy because I left him in charge until I get back.”

He is coming back? Right?

There's got to be paperwork. Transfer of power? Some sort of treaty? He's not just going to be king because Pagan said so and the Golden Path has some sort of devotion towards a dad he's never met and apparently probably wouldn't have ever wanted to.

But this is Kyrat so it's entirely fucking possible that is exactly how this works.

Fuck.

No, he'll come back. He has to.

Pagan doesn't come back.

* * *

“God, no,” Paul says. “You think he actually trusted me enough to tell me plans? He just told me to do my job and I did it. Question this guy, get rid of this one. Tell you the truth, kid, he probably doesn't even know what his plans are.”

“So you don't even know where the hell he is.” Ajay runs a hand through his hair, eyes Paul's shaky hands, his bruised face, and sighs. Ostensibly, he's interrogating Paul to find out Pagan's whereabouts so that the Golden Path can make sure he's never going to return.

He doesn't think Sabal buys it, but it's convincing enough and Ajay's track record with murdering the shit out of Pagan's army gets him enough pull to spring Paul and take him back to the palace.

It's not going to last though. Sabal's already making noise about purging the non-believers and there's another fucking mess that's been dumped in his lap to deal with.

One that's at least partially his fault.

“Listen, you don't like me and I'm pretty sure getting me locked up in a cage is not really going to help me like you. But if Pagan really has fucked off to parts unknown, you're going to need help.”

“And you'd help me? Really?” Ajay doesn't even attempt to keep the disbelief out of his voice. “Why on earth would I trust you?”

“It's not about trust.” There's a hint of actual... sympathy in his gaze, which is frankly terrible. “You wouldn't have sprung me from your Golden Path buddies, though, unless you were having a few trust issues with them. I'm not doing this because I like you. I'm doing this because you're my best bet at surviving this shithole.”

Past Ajay says no, says don't negotiate with fucking amoral assholes that torture and murder and mock you for trying to help people. Past Ajay says to throw him back there.

Present Ajay hears all of this, remembers it, and says, “Fine. But if you fuck me over, I'll make sure the last thing your daughter hears is your death.” He swallows back the bile that comes up as he says it.

Paul smiles. It's not a friendly one. “Pagan would be proud of you.”

* * *

Pagan's pushing him down on his bed and Ajay knows he could fight it, knows he could say no and Pagan would back away, wouldn't press, but he doesn't want to say no. He doesn't want to do the smart or the right thing. He wants to do what he thinks is best.

And having Pagan fuck him is the best idea he's ever had. He knows it.

Pagan's whispering in his ear, “Oh, Ajay, I never should have left you if I knew it would leave you like this. Such a lovely, quivering mess of a boy. Tell me, how long did you hold off before you started sleeping in my bed. Couldn't have been more than a few days.”

“Shut up,” Ajay says. “Just stop talking and do it already.”

But Pagan takes his time, lets his hands explore Ajay's body, lets his mouth nip at Ajay's neck, kiss down his spine. His fingers cup around Ajay's cock, playing with it, caressing him until Ajay's writhing on the bed and he always knew Pagan was a fucking monster because he won't let Ajay come, won't do anything but tease him and toy with him and why won't he fuck him already.

“I'm not going to fuck you,” Pagan says.

“Why the fuck not?” Ajay is hard and hot and he's going to kill him if he doesn't do it.

Pagan leans down, puts his forehead to Ajay's and--

“Fuck,” Ajay says.

He lays in bed for several minutes, trying not to think of—shit, another dream about Pagan and he should probably stop sleeping in the man's room if he's trying to forget him.

Ajay finally stumbles out of the room, makes his way into the dining room where Bhadra's already there, eating a bowl of cereal. She looks up at him.

“Good morning,” she says, smiling. She's wearing jeans and a t-shirt that must have belonged to Pagan at some point because it's got a unicorn and a rainbow and it's way too big for her. If she had a phone in front of her, she'd look like any random teenage girl and it actually makes him feel like he's not completely fucking it up if at least Bhadra can have a good day that doesn't involve sacrifice or someone laying a shit ton of pressure on a fourteen year old's shoulders.

Yet another reason why Sabal won't talk to him anymore. The list just keeps getting bigger – won't get rid of heretics, kidnapped (rescued) the Tarun Matara, let a known associate of Pagan's advise him on shady shit.

Okay, maybe the last one was a mistake.

And it's another a mistake thinking of Pagan because the dream comes roaring back and he finds him flushing at the thought of it.

So he can't meet Bhadra's eyes but he's able to mumble “Good morning,” and hides by getting some coffee.

Yeah, he really needs to get over this shit fast.

But he knows that once again, he'll go crawling back into Pagan's bed and wish the man was in it too.

* * *

“Fuck him,” Shalaija says. “You don't need him. You're doing great.” She takes the last swig of her beer, throws the bottle off the balcony. Ajay thinks about pointing out that she could hurt someone, but if he was concerned about that, he probably wouldn't have promoted her and given her a rocket launcher as a present.

Zhihao shrugs. “Can't argue here.” He's still got half his beer left and is busy texting his mother, probably to update her. “Dear mom, another boring day in the Royal Guard. Killed an eagle that tried to rip my head off. Also helped foil another assassination attempt on my boss. Nothing new.”

Ajay likes both of them. They're smart, they're creative, they haven't tried to kill him and have stopped people who have, and best of all, they feel free to talk shit about Pagan. Best friend material right here.

“It's not about that,” Ajay says. “I don't want him back to rule Kyrat. We all saw how that turned out.”

Shalaija snorts. “Well, I'm pretty sure only half of my village wanted his head on a stick. It wasn't like the Golden Path was doing a bang-up job of convincing us they knew what they were doing before you showed up. So even if he was terrible, he knew enough to pick you.”

“Yeah.” Ajay looks down at his beer, raises his head to see Zhihao flash a quick look over at Shalaija. “What?”

Zhihao clears his throat. “Was there—was there something between the two of you?”

Maybe it's the fact that he's pretty drunk or that two of his subordinates are asking him shit he's thinking of answering, but all Ajay can do is stare blankly at them.

“Because you know, we kind of had some ideas in the Royal Guard. I mean, when we weren't trying to kill you because enemy and traitor and all that shit. There might have been a pool about whether you were Pagan's long lost son or just someone he really wanted to fuck.”

“I don't—I mean,” Ajay sputters and closes his mouth. Takes a deep breath. “I'm not his son.”

“Kind of figured that out,” Shalaija says. “Your room isn't sound proof, just so you know.”

Ajay goes red. “You can—fuck, I'm sorry.”

“Look, no one's fucking judging you. You don't think a lot of people had crushes on Pagan? But we knew not to go near him. None of us wanted to die.”

“Fucking Yuma,” Zhihao mutters and takes a swig. “Not sad to see her go.”

Shalaija clinks her bottle with Zhihao, motions for Ajay to join in, and then waits until he's set the beer down before she continues. “So when we ask you if there was something between you, it's because you're doing a pretty damn good job at keeping this place under control and if there's shit that's going to come up to fuck with that, we need to know about it.”

He looks down again. A year and he can't get over it. A year and he wakes up every morning, tries to put out both metaphorical and literal fires (usually more of the latter in Kyrat), avoids assassination attempts from small but determined and varied groups that hate him, and goes to bed trying not to wish that Pagan was back, so he could ask him what the fuck am I doing? Am I doing a good job? Is Kyrat better because of me? Will you fuck me or I fuck you? I'm not picky.

“I think I love him,” Ajay says. “But I didn't get a chance to figure out what that meant and I have no fucking clue where he would have gone off too and it's not like I can just leave to figure it out.”

He closes his eyes. He shouldn't have drank that much because a dark wave's hit him and he's trying not to crawl under it, go back to bed and sleep for a million years until the shit that is his life is sorted out.

“That's what I thought,” Shalaija sounds tired all of a sudden. She's giving one of those significant looks to Zhihao again, and Ajay's getting a little sick of not being in on whatever they're discussing with their eyes.

Zhihao stands up abruptly. “Ajay, tell me. Why are we still here?”

“You guys?” He's confused. “Because I asked you to come out drinking with me?”

“No, Ajay.” Zhihao's tone is patient, like he's dealing with a particularly ignorant child. “Why do you still have guards? Why does the army follow you still when their boss is gone? I mean, Shalaija and I like you, but there's a whole bunch of people that don't give two shits about you.”

“Because—beacuse--” Ajay's brain clicks on something. “Because I pay them?”

“Do you, Ajay?” Shailja standing up now too, looming over him. “Do you pay me? When was the last time you cut a check to anyone? Or do you think the army runs on promises?”

He tries to clear his mind, think about the last time that he actually dealt with the financials. Okay, so he may have delegated a little bit of the day to day shit out to a few particularly brave and foolish individuals willing to come out to the palace, but--

“I haven't been paying you?”

“Yes.” Shalaija's look is triumphant. “And we don't work for free.”

Something clicks into place.

“So then someone else has been--”

“Yes.”

Ajay closes his eyes. Thinks about it.

It hits him.

“Motherfucker.”

* * *

Everything's on fire.

Well, mostly. There's still one intact Jeep nearby and they've mostly got the brush under control now, but there's a few trucks and a pile of corpses that are fairly unrecognizable.

A few of the Golden Path are still moaning nearby. Paul will be happy he kept at least a few of them alive for questioning. Sabal may have gone to ground after his last attempt at “cleansing Kyrat of the corrupted son of Mohan” was thwarted, but it's always good to know what your enemy is planning.

The man in front of him is mostly fine. He's got a bag on his head, his arms are tied behind his back, and his clothing's slightly ripped, but Ajay's damn lucky that the kidnappers were going for “ritual public sacrifice” rather than the smarter route of quick bullet to the head.

He contemplates shooting a few more of the Golden Path. Surely, they only need one to give them answers.

But he can afford to be magnanimous. The traitor's dead, the plot's been stopped, and Pagan's in his grasp. He's the King of Kyrat and he's got everything he wants.

Ajay takes off the bag, lets Pagan blink in front of him. He squints, then as his vision clears, he can see him focus and recognize Ajay.

“Ajay,” he says. “I'd recognize those eyes anywhere.” He's grinning.

Asshole. At least no one will be stabbed with a pen this time. 

* * *

"So you missed me?"

He's still smug and cool, despite being completely naked and at Ajay's mercy. For all he knows, Ajay's turned into some sort of maniacal tyrant that--

Crap. Pagan's probably turned on by that. 

"You didn't have to leave," Ajay says, and though he'd like to think it sounds authoritative and stern, it comes out like he wants to add "because I really missed you and please never leave again."

"Oh, dear boy." Pagan runs his hand through Ajay's hair, ruffles it a little. "How else were they going to take you seriously? No one would have respected you as king if they thought I was the one pulling the strings?"

"I don't want to be king," Ajay grumbles, but it's hard to stay angry when Pagan's hand wanders and oh, those dreams and furtive sessions in Pagan's bed were not doing his hands justice because they're smooth and soft and maybe moisturizer is important after all like Pagan said, he'll have to look into that, but later, because he thought he was going to be the one in control here and that is clearly not the case. 

"But you're such a good king," Pagan whispers into Ajay's ear, his hand stroking Ajay's cock carefully, slowly. "Everyone tells me how much they love you. How much they worship you."

"I'm not asking them--"

"And that's why they're doing it. The true son of Kyrat, the one that saved it from war and death and gave it hope and love and rainbows everywhere. Even the CIA is backing off, calculating how they can get you to work with them."

Ajay jolts for a second, but Pagan's other hand lands on his shoulder. "You--." Fuck. "Did Paul tell you?"

"Paul?" Pagan looks amused even as he picks up pace. "No, I haven't talked to him. I was surprised to hear you kept him around after your rather climactic mic drop with him."

He just glares at Pagan. "So you haven't planned out everything then."

The man just smiles indulgently, like Ajay is just speaking so adorable instead of making a fucking point, and kisses him for a while. When he pulls away, he looks at him with a suspicious amount of fondness that--oh, god, he has feelings too. "Ajay, with you, why would I even try? I just knew you'd do the right thing."

"Fuck you," Ajay breathes and lets his own hand wander down to Pagan's cock. He breathes in sharply and Ajay grins. If Pagan thinks this is going to be a thing where poor, neglected Ajay gets pleasure and Pagan gets to watch him fall apart, he's going to be so fucking wrong. They're both going to pieces by the time this night is over, and it's just going to be so much fun when Pagan realizes that he's going to be Ajay's partner in everything.

So when the morning breaks and they're both fucked beyond belief and half of Ajay's guard probably won't look him in the eye, he's going to let Pagan know about his own plans.

You see, the problem with Kyrat is it's too much for one person to handle. Sane men go mad, heroes become monsters, an innocent kid can become a murderer because Kyrat doesn't want you to change it. It wants to change you and you need someone to tell you just how far you've gone and pull you back before it's too much. 

Kyrat doesn't need a king.

It needs two. 


End file.
